A Fellowship Christmas
by Blue Kat
Summary: *UPDATED* The Fellowship along with some other LOTR characters, all gather together to celebrate the holidays...not counting on the intervention of others...'tis the season to be insane! R/R
1. Chapter One: An Unlikely Gathering

Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR and I don't own Christmas either. Which brings me to a funny quote from _Kim Possible_: "For the last time, he was _not trying to steal Christmas_!" I don't know where that came from or how it relates to this disclaimer, but I thought it was funny…

Author's Note: I wonder how many people are going to kill me for starting a new fic? Especially since I plan to post at least four or five before 2003…anyhow, I've had this idea floating around in my head for a while and since Christmas is coming, I thought I'd post it. 

A Fellowship Christmas 

Chapter One: An Unlikely Gathering 

            Let's pretend, just for a moment, that all of the Fellowship and some of their acquaintances have gathered together for Christmas Eve in a large home in an unknown location with furniture appropriately sized for everyone. Aragorn is busy in the kitchen, wearing a Christmas-y apron that makes him appear slightly out of character. He is apparently busy making (or perhaps _attempting_ to make) dinner and dessert. Tollhouse Break and Bake wrappers are conveniently stuffed out of sight in a nearby trashcan. 

            In the living room the four hobbits sit close to the appetizers set out upon the table. Sam happily munches at the vegetables and dip, occasionally wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, printed with tiny Christmas trees. Frodo sits nearby, humming along to the soft Christmas music in the background, while secretly scrutinizing the presents beneath the tree, wondering if he had gotten the cell phone he wanted, and vowing to scream if someone bought him _Spiderman_ underwear. Again.

            Merry and Pippin have inevitably discovered the eggnog. Each has a festive paper cup filled to the brim with the opaque drink and they are starting to look slightly giddy as they down their sixteenth or seventeenth cup.

            Elrond sits nearby, occasionally eying the two troublemakers uneasily as their high pitched giggles make their way to his keen elven ears. Frodo's not-so-secret glances at the Christmas tree have unnerved him slightly and he can't help but wonder if the former Ring-Bearer will enjoy the special monogrammed set of towels he purchased for him.

            Boromir sits on the couch avidly explaining to Gimli what it was like to be dead. The Son of Gondor had been reincarnated for this story, as the author felt that he deserved to make an appearance. Gimli occasionally nods at Boromir's explanations, sipping at his cider, pretending to be interested while the never-ending question of "where _have_ all the cowboys gone?" echoes throughout his mind.

            Meanwhile, Gandalf sits in a chair by the fire, casting the occasional glare at Saruman through the smoke of his pipe—he had not wanted the wizard to come, but did anyone listen to him? No. Saruman sits on the ataman, pretending that he is oblivious to Gandalf's glares. It is so _obvious_ that Gandalf was jealous of his hair—he had it crimped just for the occasion. And his emerald green robes and festive red nail polish were to _die_ for…

            Legolas sits on the piano bench, surveying the strange crowd with a cool stare, holding in laughter caused by Saruman's outfit. He casually flicks a speck of dust off his perfect nails, wondering if the smells emitting from the kitchen meant Aragorn would shortly burn the house down. Arwen is seated nearby the blond elf knitting, occasionally glancing up at Saruman, only to think, _That is **so** Second Age…_

            Galadriel stands in the corner of the room frequently casting her icy gaze on any spectators, and consequently scaring the crap out of them. She glances at a mirror and smiles softly. She looks _so_ much better in white than Saruman…

            All of these people, elves, wizards, and hobbits have gathered here for a single purpose: to celebrate Christmas. Little do they know of the fifteen year old author who sits so gleefully at her computer, humming a Christmas Carol as she plots the future escapades of these poor unsuspecting people. Kat, the aforementioned author, puts the finishing touches on her first chapter, puts her Magical Santa Hat of Insanity atop her head, and submits her first installment of this story.

            The Muses bang their heads against the wall simultaneously as Kat giggles happily.

A/N: Short, I know. Want more? Review! 


	2. Chapter Two: It's Beginning to Look a lo...

Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR and Santa didn't leave the rights in my stocking, so there you have it.

A/N: I'm going to keep writing this fic, even though Christmas has come and gone. So stay tuned!

Important Note: I kind of wanted the 1st chapter to be written like an intro, so don't be surprised if I change the tense to past in this chapter and the others to come.

Chapter Two: It's Beginning to look a lot Like Christmas…and Chaos…

            **FOOM!**

            "AHH!!! THE TURKEY!!" yelped Aragorn from the kitchen as the odor of burning meat began to waft through the house. The sound of a fire extinguisher being sprayed haphazardly all over the kitchen soon covered the uncomfortable silence that had shrouded the living room. Several minutes later, the winded cry of "I'm…o-okay…" echoed throughout the house and everyone relaxed noticeably.

            "He fought the Nazgúl. He went into the Land of the Dead and came back alive. He left thousands of orcs slain and maimed on the battlefield. But he can't make a simple Christmas dinner without nearly burning the house down…" Elrond muttered to himself, holding his head in his hands. Arwen shot him a dirty look, placing her knitting down in her lap.

            "At least he's trying," the Evenstar replied quietly. 

            "Oh yes. He makes one mean bowl of cold cereal," Pippin interjected, a touch of sarcasm gracing his tone. Arwen shot a look at the curly haired hobbit. "Oh, look at that. We're all out of eggnog. I'll be right back," Pippin replied nervously, immediately scurrying off toward the kitchen.

            "Mmm hmm, that's what I thought…" Arwen muttered as the hobbit disappeared from view.

            "Say, Gandalf, have I told you what it was like to be dead?" Boromir inquired cheerfully, clearly in a misguided attempt to change the subject.

            "But didn't _Gandalf_ die at Khazad-dúm?" Frodo asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

            "Maybe I did…or _DID_ I?" Gandalf replied, his eyes widening as the ominous music played in the background.

            "Hey, who's messing around with the radio?" asked Merry, sipping at his eggnog. Gimli quietly hides an old transistor radio behind his back, whistling innocently. 

            "Riiight…" said Frodo after a moment of uneasy silence.

            "Arwen? Are the mashed potatoes _supposed_ to be black and crunchy?" inquired Aragorn from the kitchen. Pippin returned with a fresh bottle of eggnog at that moment, wearing an expression that clearly described the state of affairs in the kitchen.

            "You shouldn't go in there right now," he reported, sitting down on the sofa. "At least until he stops trying to fry the salad."

            Arwen quickly dismissed herself and ran off toward the kitchen, hoping to stop the impending disaster.

            "Saruman," Galadriel began after a moment, "your nails are so…festive. Where did you get them done?"

            "Oh you really think so?" the wizard replied in his booming voice that seemed to demand authority. "I wasn't sure if they complimented the green in my robes enough…but I got them done at LuLu's Salon up in Gondor…I simply _can't_ stand going out in _public_ looking ragged and shabby, you know?" It was quite obvious that this comment was directed at Gandalf, who had worn his frayed grey robes, as his new white ones were still at the dry cleaners'. 

            "At least _I_ don't look like a basset hound with liver spots and a pole stuck up my ass…" Gandalf muttered under his breath. Merry sniggered.

            "What was that, my old friend?" Saruman inquired, with false cheerfulness.

            "Oh, nothing," Gandalf replied with an equal amount of sincerity. 

            _May the Valar help us…_Galadriel thought to herself.

            But the call of the proud elf did _not_ reach the ears of the Valar, nor any other god, hero, or divinity that belonged to Middle-earth. It was heard by Kat, the author of this bizarre, and so far, plotless, story.

            "Okay. What should I do next…" the dark haired writer asked herself, leaning backward in her chair. An idea popped into her mind and she smiled happily.

            This should prove to be rather interesting…

A/N: Another short installment. Sorry, just wanted to get the story set up before I make a big jump into insanity. Hee hee. Anyhow, stay tuned. The next chapter will be longer and more interesting, I promise!


	3. Chapter Three: Let the Games Begin

Disclaimer: I swear Officer it's not mine…

A/N: Well, that took awhile. Sorry about that guys. I've been pretty busy and my readers from other stories have been very irked about my updating habits. But I have every intention of finishing this so don't worry! Oh, and if you want me to email you when I update, let me know.

Chapter Three: Let the Games Begin…

            A good five minutes later Arwen had successfully removed Aragorn from the kitchen, the monogrammed letters on his apron now reading "Happy Days!" the missing print replaced with singed fabric. A spatula was stuck in his pocket—now covered with a variety of unknown substances, including what looked like part of the mixer and Frodo's missing toothbrush. 

            "Well," said Arwen, sitting her soon-to-be husband down on a chair. "We have three options." She cleared her throat. "Taco Bell, McDonalds, or Dominoes."

            "Can I get a Happy Meal?" Pippin asked excitedly. "They have these new Hot Wheels cars…"

            "Taco Bell or go to hell," Saruman chanted, banging his staff on the floor for further emphasis.

            "The wise favor McDonalds," Gandalf said ominously, wearing a look that had "Bite me Saruman, you taco-lovin' pansy" written all over it.

             "McDonalds is the nectar of the fools…" Saruman countered after a quick peek at _1001 Snappy Comebacks_ by Fred "Wimpy" Stuart. Gandalf snorted in response, causing Saruman to quickly retreat to _Chapter Fifteen: OK, so that one sucked…_

            "I want Dominoes," Aragorn whined.

            "Then I forbid it!" Elrond exclaimed rising to his feet.

            "You want to mess with me? You want to mess with ME?" Aragorn challenged standing up.

            "Darling, please sit down," Arwen requested, rubbing her temples softly.

            "Well I know _you_ are, Gandalf, but what am—what the hell? Okay, wait a minute…" said Saruman, turning pages rapidly. Gandalf smirked in that wizardly way and leaned back in the chair in triumph.

            "You don't know what you're challenging you grea—"

            "**_DADDY!!_**"

            "Taco Bell gives me gas." There was a significant pause as everyone turned to look at Frodo. "WHA-AT?! They use too much corn in their tortillas!" exclaimed the hobbit, creating another moment of uneasy silence.

            "Dominoes it is," Arwen said after a moment. Everyone nodded in agreement.

            "Can't a guy have a couple of problems and not be rejected by his peers?" muttered Frodo, crossing his arms over his chest.

            "Frodo, you've already HAD your fair share of problems. Remember that whole deal with the Ring?" Merry replied sarcastically, clapping Frodo on the shoulder. Frodo grunted in response.

            "And besides," added Pippin, "there's a fine line between 'problem' and 'too much information about bodily functions."

            "Ahem. What kind of pizza do we want?" Arwen asked as she flipped through the phone book.

            "Make me a pizza worthy of Mordor!" exclaimed Saruman.

            "That was Sauron's line!" Merry accused through a mouthful of crackers.

            "Nooo…" lied Saruman, his eyes suddenly becoming rather shifty. Gandalf suppressed a laugh.

            "I WANT MUSHROOM!" Pippin demanded.

            "What we'll be wanting is pepperoni," said Gimli. "It is the meat of a strong warrior!"

            "Didn't you say Marshmallow Peeps were worthy of a warr—" began Legolas, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

            "Ah ha ha, the Elf makes a good jest…" Gimli replied quickly, chuckling uneasily.

            "SAUSAGE!" exclaimed Elrond and Aragorn simultaneously. They glared at each other.

            "I mean, I hate sausage!" said Elrond disdainfully.

            "I am _offended_!" responded Aragorn. "How could you besmirch the very—" His speech was interrupted due to the dishtowel Arwen quickly stuffed in his mouth.

            "I'm going to ask again," she said quietly while Aragorn choked on the fabric. "And if anyone says anything other than 'cheese', I will personally wring your neck. Now." She looked around the room very slowly. "What kind of pizza do we want?"

            "Uh…cheese would be good…" Boromir said after a moment, deciding that if Arwen killed him, he could tell all his ghost buddies what it was like to be alive again. The room nodded in agreement.

            "That's my girl…" murmured Galadriel softly and proudly.

            "So what do you figure…about three pizzas?" Arwen asked Aragorn.

            "Yeah, three apiece for Merry and Pippin ought to do it," Aragorn agreed, tossing the dishtowel in the trash.

            "And then probably…five for the rest of us…so eleven pizzas." Arwen picked up the phone and dialed.

            "Hello Dominoes pizza," the male employee greeted. It was quite evident to Arwen that this particular employee's height of eloquence would most likely be illustrated in the phrase "dude."

            "Hi, I'd like eleven pizzas with regular crust," she said, making an effort to speak slowly.

            "Whoaaaaaaa, eleven pizzas…you like havin' a party or somethin'?" he inquired.

            "My fiancé accidentally made Christmas Eve Turkey Flambé," she replied, earning a look from Aragorn and a smirk from Elrond.

            "Whoa, that really sucks, man…can I have your name, address, and phone number?"

            While Arwen gave him the appropriate information (complete with an explanation of the difference between two and five ("I can never tell the difference, man!") that lasted longer than her patience), a friendly competition broke out between Gimli and Merry to see who could hold their breath the longest.

            "I'm putting my money on Merry," Frodo said as both competitors slowly turned a shade of red.

            "Gimli's got more endurance," Boromir pointed out. Elrond and Aragorn glared at each other periodically.

            "No, two is _before_ three…no, _before_…" Arwen explained, gritting her teeth.

            "Uh…guys, you might want to stop now…guys?" Sam suggested as the stares of both the hobbit and the dwarf grew increasingly blank.

"Yeah, Gimli, you're turning blue…Gimli? Gimli can you hear me? Shake once for 'yes'—" 

**FWUMP**

Both Gimli and Merry hit the ground at the exact same time, knocking the paper cups off the table in the process.

"Where'd Merry go?" asked Pippin, looking up from his eggnog.

"JUST DELIVER THE PIZZA, DAMMIT!" screamed Arwen into the receiver, her face flushed with anger.

"I think I'm getting a pulse," said Frodo bending over Merry. "No wait…here it…no…wait…man, I knew there was a reason I flunked the lifeguard course—wait, okay, he's breathing again…"

"Gimli looks…alive…sorta…" reported Sam from the couch.

"I think he just grunted," added Boromir.

"Okay, I turn my back for five minutes and Gimli and Merry are passed out on the rug…what is this, a frat party?" demanded Arwen, hanging up the receiver.

"Frat parties—I love those! All the food you can eat until you pass out!" exclaimed Pippin. "_And_ those sorority girls—I mean…it wasn't my fault…"

"Breath holding contest," Boromir interjected quickly.

"Why am I not surprised…" the Evenstar muttered, casually flicking a strand of hair out of her face. "Anyhow, the pizza should be here in about an hour and a half or so. To avoid doing further damage to the house, I suggest we do something safe…like charades…"

After much grumbling, the idea was accepted and they divided up into four different teams—the Elves, the Hobbitz (Pippin insisted on the addition of the 'z'), The Manly Men and Wonderful Wizards, and Gimli and Merry, who were still passed out on the couch.

One hour and forty-five minutes later… 

            "No! It's _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_!" exclaimed Boromir, who had a lampshade on his head and a feather duster in his hand.

            "What?" asked Aragorn flatly, his eyes wide in disbelief.

            "Ding Dong!" sounded the doorbell cheerfully.

            "PIZZA!" exclaimed Pippin greedily. Merry would have most likely said something similar, but both he and Gimli were still unconscious, muttering an occasional "Watermelon…" (in Gimli's case it was "Hee hee…I like bunnies…")

            "_I'll_ get it," Gandalf said immediately, most likely fearing an invasion of a hobbit nature. The wizard got up and approached the door, leaning gently on his staff.

            "Whoa…you're even taller in _real_ life…" greeted the delivery girl once Gandalf opened the door. She was wearing a festive red and green joker-type hat with lots of jingle bells. A nametag reading "Reikon" was pinned to the corner of her shirt.

            "Eh?" asked Gandalf, slightly confused.

            "I mean—you're the house that ordered eleven cheese pizzas?" she asked quickly.

            "Yes, that would be us," Gandalf replied.

            "Okay, I'm going to hand these to you, but be careful, they're hot," Reikon warned as she removed four boxes from the nifty insulator case. "Alright then, your total comes to $105.50 (A/N: I'm guessing on the price—9.95 per pizza plus tax.)," she replied once all the boxes had been safely transported into the house.

            "One-hundred and five dollars?!" exclaimed Gandalf, his bushy eyebrows rising in alarm.

            "And fifty cents," added Reikon promptly. Gandalf sighed as he withdrew his checkbook from the folds of his robes.

            "That's the danger of having hobbits over for dinner…" he muttered as he wrote the check.

            "I heard that!" exclaimed Pippin from inside the house.

            "Um, sir, I'm sorry, we don't take checks," said Reikon as he handed her the check.

            "What check?" he asked innocently. 

            "This—" Reikon stopped and looked at her outstretched palm. A neat stack of two fifty-dollar bills, five singles, and two quarters lay neatly on her hand in place of the check. She frowned slightly, with a bemused expression in her eyes. "I mean…thank you sir."

            "Oh, yes, and here's your tip," said Gandalf, removing a crisp ten dollar bill from his pocket.

            "Thanks Gandy—I mean sir. Merry Christmas!" she replied cheerfully, stuffing the bill in her coat pocket.

            "You're welcome. Merry Christmas to you too," the wizard replied closing the door behind him. Withdrawing slightly from the house, Reikon removed a walkie-talkie from her coat pocket and pressed down the call button.

            "This is Elf One, do you read me Burger Kween?" she said into the speaker.

            "Loud and clear. Who said you could get the cool elf code name? Over," demanded a voice from the speaker.

            "I am an elf. Well, like the Santa kind…besides, _you_ get the Magical Santa Hat of Insanity," she replied.

            "Well…being an author of weird fics has its rewards, including my awesome headgear. Did you deliver the baggage?" replied the speaker, who was obviously Kat.

            "Yup. The pizzas are in the house."

            "You mean baggage."

            "Yeah. Stupid code names…"

            "Negative. Code names equals cool and spiffy."

            "Okay, okay. So the baggage has been successfully delivered."

            "Alright. Using my authoress powers of total spiffiness, I'll beam you over."

            "Roger."

            There was a puff of blue smoke and Reikon was gone, leaving the nifty insulation bags at the door.

*

            "Alright…" said Kat leaning back in her chair as Reikon appeared next to the computer. "It looks like they're getting ready to eat," she reported, watching the Fellowship via her special security system.

            "Zoom in on Legolas," suggested Reikon (who has oh-so-generously agreed to make random appearances in this fic) as she peered at the screen.

            "You know I can't do that!" exclaimed Kat as she switched camera angles. "The stupid computer won't let me. Trust me, I've tried to get close-up shots of him _at least_ seven hundred times."

            "This is an outrage. For all that money we had to put into this thing, you'd THINK they'd at least let you zoom in," replied Reikon as she watched Sam eat another cracker.

            "Especially since it would be _such_ a good opportunity to get pictures of his butt and sell them on eBay for an outrageous price," added Kat. "We could make millions."

            "So when are we going in?" asked Reikon.

            "After they finish dinner. One thing I am definitely not interested in is their table manners…especially after what the hobbits did to the appetizers."

            "Well, at least we didn't have to worry about Gimli…"

            "Oooh…you're right. Now I'm scared."

            The two girls looked at the screen thoughtfully.

            "This is going to be hella fun," Reikon said as she watched the Fellowship sitting innocently around the living room, _completely_ unaware of the insanity to come…

A/N: And Reikon makes her appearance! I'm doing this with her permission, by the way, so yeah. And read her stuff, it's good! Anyhow, hoped you liked it. R/R!!!


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